Projection
by chocomelly
Summary: In which Judal and Ja'far project their feelings for Sinbad onto one another; "'I don't wait up for him all night sighing and wishing like a little girl, he's nothing but a tool to me, a prize in a game.' he held Ja'far bruisingly as he spat out harsh words, 'I may someday make him my possession, but I'll never wait around for him like you do'." [JuFar M/M R18]


This is my first magi fic, and my first R18 fanfic—please be gentle with me ; o ; and let me know what you think!  
(fun fact: sinja is my otp, but jufar is my guilty pleasure)

The cool ghost of Sindria's night air gently ruffled the pale young man's hair as he worked, teasing his skin, inviting him into the night. He merely rubbed his cheek idly in dismissal, returning diligently to his work. Sinbad was out drinking and gadding with Sharrkan and a few of the other generals, it was not uncommon for them; especially on a night like this with the warm air and cool breeze, lanterns and laughter lining the streets into the late hours. The nighttime was beautiful here, something to go out and enjoy, but it was also pleasant to work in and Ja'far felt he accomplished much on such relaxing evenings. Furthermore, he had no interest in booze and women, and though it irritated him more than he liked to admit to think of Sinbad slacking off, his king was always more prepared and accomplished than Ja'far gave him credit for, to the point that he had given up his fruitless protests. And so the king went out to play while his adviser set to work.

Soft lips expelled a sigh; smooth white hairs dusting his vision as he sleepily bowed his head. The tower was quiet and the breeze was soothing. He recalled the laughter of his king, the firm yet gentle grasp of his own shoulder, the devastatingly vivid memory of each finger curled over the fabric that served as the only barrier between their skin. The lingering resonance of his voice that followed Ja'far: you work too hard; go out and play a little.

The King's adviser and most trusted general let out a soft snort. He was not one for nighttime festivities—or festivities in general—and besides . . . Ja'far had trouble relaxing the grip on his pen at the thought of Sinbad, likely having drunk far too much, bedding some loose woman while Ja'far was up in his tower slaving away for him. He smirked inwardly at himself in disgust, what was he, a jealous wife? Hardly.

"What an ugly expression that is." A haughty and all-too-familiar voice appeared disharmoniously in Ja'far's ears. Judal's entrance startled Ja'far something fierce, his heart practically leaping out of his chest. Had he been so lost in thought—he frowned, suddenly aware of the petty nature of such thoughts—that he hadn't even noticed the footsteps? What an unforgivable failure on his part, even if Judal was more than the ordinary intruder. He cursed himself twice realizing he'd been making some sort of private, likely embarrassing expression.

"Sinbad isn't here, Judal." He sighed. "He's out tonight."

The young, but impressively powerful magi narrowed his eyes at that, though his icy smile did not wane. "With you it's always _Sinbad, Sinbad, Sinbad_, is it?"

Ja'far didn't bother to dignify Judal's asinine comment with response. He merely returned to his papers, which the dark-haired imp had no problem overturning. His palms pressed invasively against the desk as he leaned forward, as if to force Ja'far to pay attention to him.

"Are you bored, Judal?" Ja'far asked impatiently with as little inflection as he could muster.

"Aren't you?" Judal sneered casually, "Or are you, with your boring little personality, perfectly content to spend the night making love to your boring little papers?"

Ja'far sighed, not in the mood for Judal's games. He hoped the magi would hurry up and have his fun, make his point and leave. Having him around always set him on edge, made his skin prickle with discomfort. There was something extremely bothersome yet also fearsome about him, the feeling that Ja'far would love nothing more than to be rid of him but would ultimately rather avoid a fight with him.

Judal continued, "Tell me, Ja'far, do you enjoy doing a king's work while he goes out to fuck and play?"

The crudeness of his words made Ja'far grit his teeth. What business was it of Judal's anyway?

"Sinbad has his own work, and I have mine," he ground out, attempting a calm disposition, "As he is my king I have no place to object with how he spends his free time as long as he's successfully leading this kingdom." For extra measure he added, "At any rate, I don't see how it's of any concern to you."

"I knew you'd say that," Judal sighed, visibly disappointed, "You're so _boring_, Ja'far."

His nerves already grated upon more than usual, Ja'far made the mistake of asking, "What do you want, Judal?"

Not as if Judal was one to obediently answer questions. His haphazard appearances were never sensical or warranted, nor did they ever end with a feeling of ease. However at this moment Ja'far saw him as more of a nuisance than anything to be wary of.

"Why don't you go with him? Surely he's invited you to join him and the others out, no?" Judal seemed to wave his wand lazily about as he spoke, staring off with a bedroom gaze before turning sharply on Ja'far once more, a mischievous grin highlighting his youthful but dangerous features, "maybe if you're lucky, he'll drink enough to bed you instead of those women." He nodded casually in the direction of the tower window, where the faint, distant giggling of girls could be heard from below, mingling with music amidst the late night festivities.

The older, but fairer young man felt his freckled complexion darken slightly, but fought off all other impulse to react. Calmly but icily he retorted, "Don't project your own feelings onto me, Judal."

Before he could realize the impact of his own words, he felt a rough grip take up his jaw, fingers pressing hard into his freckle-spattered cheeks. "I'm not projecting anything," Judal hissed, now almost nose-to-nose with Ja'far as he leaned in close with a white cold smile, "Look me dead in the eyes and tell me I'm wrong about you when it comes to him."

Ja'far met him with a challenging glare. "You're—wrong."It didn't really sound convincing.

Judal smirked arrogantly, "So the real question is, do you actually _love_ the bastard or do you just want him to bend you over?" he'd turned Ja'far's face in such a way that their eyes were still fiercely connected, but Judal's breath now snaked hotly down his neck. Ja'far, still biting back words of utter revulsion, merely averted his gaze.

At this Judal laughed with delight, "Ha ha! Unbelievable. You really do love him, don't you? How naïve are you?" Even as his thin but muscular body shook with laughter his viselike grip on Ja'far did not let up.

The general felt himself grow hot. No, no, no. He hated this. He didn't want to give in to Judal's provocation, but it was working on him only too well. "Shut up! You aren't any different from me. You're not fooling anyone coming here just to see him."

"Wrong again," he yanked Ja'far towards him by the jaw, causing the young man to be half-sprawled over his own desk. "I'm not like you at all. You're pathetic, spending every day at his side with your stupid feelings. Wanting someone and loving someone are two completely different things. I don't wait up for him all night sighing and wishing like a little girl, he's nothing but a tool to me, a prize in a game." His fingers held Ja'far bruisingly, his face close enough for the other's eyes to hesitantly linger over sharp, exposed canines as he spat out harsh words, "I may someday make him my possession, but I'll never wait around for him like you do."

Ja'far's gaze fell, a hopeless expression taking the place of his previous defiance. "I'm not waiting for anything. I'm not an idiot, Judal." He said quietly.

Judal, having braced himself for venom, was startled at first but he had to admit seeing his enemy make this sort of expression was all-too-pleasing. "No?" he purred, releasing his grip at last, "You don't hold any hope at all? That he might do something like this . . ." Without warning he pushed back Ja'far's headdress, letting it fall to the chair behind him. Slowly, his fingers glided up along the now bewildered Ja'far's cheek and through the boy's milky hair, the gentleness of his touch contrasting with the dull ache that hadn't quite yet left his jaw.

The general immediately slapped his hand away, "Don't."

"Do you wish he would pull you close and whisper your name tenderly. . ." he continued, wrapping his other arm around to draw that slim body close against his chest, his lips curling into a wicked smile against a lightly-freckled ear, "_Ja'far._"

"No." He protested, hating Judal, hating this with all his might—yet still half-hard from the pent up frustration. Beneath his robes at least it wasn't something the other would easily notice, Ja'far he prayed he wouldn't.

But Judal did notice something, something that had changed in Ja'far's demeanor. "Oh? Does this excite you?" He dipped a hand into the gaping collar of his victim's robes, fingering along the contours of Ja'far's slender frame, searching for a way beneath his stiff underclothes.

He had no response other than to push the arrogant magi away, glaring at him resolutely. This was not going to happen, whatever it was. Absolutely not. Sure, his heart was beating erratically, and his blood was stirring, but it was only nerves. He was upset, and Judal was using that against him to confuse his body—

"Come now, is this how you would treat your king?" Judal grinned, pressing forcefully against him once more; his fingers found the ties to the sash about the general's waist, deftly plucking apart the strings.

"You aren't—"

"So pretend I am." He said simply, and silenced Ja'far with a kiss.

His first instinct was to activate his household vessel and kill Judal for touching him, though truthfully he was not much of a match against the magi in a one-on-one battle—but even without magic, the kiss was draining and left Ja'far weak and panting. Why was this happening? What was Judal trying to get out of this? What was worse was the undeniable ache he felt between his legs at that brat's suggestion. Pretend Judal was Sinbad—as if he could allow himself to do that! Like a child fighting back, Ja'far untangled his arm from where Judal had pinned it in his robes and reached around to take a fistful of the boy's thick, black hair. The quiet, low moan that that elicited was surprising to Ja'far. Did . . . Judal like that? Was this him taking his frustrations towards Sinbad out on Ja'far as well?

Judal did not relent; his kiss was sweet and poisonous. Their positioning started out awkward until he'd found away to get Ja'far on his back, splayed out on the desk as Judal perched predatorily over him. The white- haired general gave another experimental tug at Judal's hair, and he hissed in wanton approval, dragging his teeth over his captive's neck in a sloppy kiss.

Soft, trembling murmurs rolled off Ja'far's lips as the kisses became more intimate, more insidious, and Judal began to tug apart his robes. "You wear too many clothes," he whispered, slinking over Ja'far in such a way that the man couldn't avoid eyeing his contrastingly exposed, taut abdomen. He squirmed in protest as greedy hands invaded his clothes and lips invaded his skin.

He parted his lightly wetted, peach-colored lips as if to protest, to bid that Judal slow down. The scars and freckles that mottled his skin were shameful to expose; it was something he did not want Sinbad to see. But this was not Sinbad, this was Judal, he remembered as he cast his eyes upward. Looking at Judal, Ja'far could see the chaotic smile had now completely vanished from his face, leaving a dangerously serious expression. Was this the face Judal intended for Sinbad?

For some reason Ja'far felt annoyed, "You don't have to make that face," he grouched, the ceremonious atmosphere from a moment ago suddenly gone.

"Shut up," was his hushed response, "Don't ruin this for me."

Ja'far's arousal had become increasingly apparent now that his robes had all been stripped off, and it didn't take long for it to reach Judal's attention. Ruby-colored eyes flickered from between Ja'far's legs back to his face, which had immediately turned a shade of deep crimson.

"It's not—" he started, though he was not sure how explaining himself would change anything.

"For me. I know." Judal murmured darkly, and then, to Ja'far's great surprise, began to knead and stroke him anyway, watching his prey with an unreadable expression.

Who was this Judal he had never seen before? Ja'far hardly had the time to contemplate it as the experience of being touched in this way by another, for the first time ever, began to steer his consciousness far off elsewhere. Judal's touches felt experienced, and the subdued young general could only throw his head back and whimper softly.

Judal let out his own muted groan, glaring down at Ja'far. Judal found those little sounds he was making to be surprisingly erotic, but they were also interrupting his twisted Sinbad fantasy. "Can it." he breathed, an agitated edge to his voice, and placed his other hand roughly over Ja'far's mouth to stifle him. At first the other jerked and squirmed in protest, but his messy cock stiffening in Judal's hand was proof of how he really felt. Judal couldn't wait any longer, yanking down his waistband to free his own erection; he pressed it up against Ja'far's and began rubbing them together with his free hand.

"Use your hand, too." He demanded in an urgent whisper, and the white-haired young man beneath him feebly did as he was told. They continued like this, becoming more and more eager, eyes clouded in the throes of their ecstasy as their thoughts centered on Sindria's king. Ja'far would shut his eyes, blinded by perverse pleasure, only to open them and catch an imaginary glimpse of violet.

"Ah—Sin—!" he gasped between Judal's fingers, before catching himself and averting his eyes. Despite them both knowing from the start what this had been about, Ja'far found it humiliating.

Judal should have reveled in his humiliation, but it only annoyed him. All of it did. His own cheeks were now unavoidably flushed with heat, the sheen of perspiration visible on his lightly tanned complexion. He was so inexplicably irritated by this outburst, despite that the very thing he had been pushing for, that he'd been waiting all this time to sneer in Ja'far's face about. It was always about Sinbad with him, and Judal had hated him for never admitting it.

And yet here was the prince of frigidity himself, melting beneath him, his flesh both delicate and crude with a mix of dainty freckles and jagged scars that none were granted access to; none before now, anyway. Judal had done this, not Sinbad, so why was that bastard getting all the credit? The thought made Judal feel angry and possessive. That moan of shameless admission made his blood boil. _Sin…_

"I'm not—_Look_ _at me!_" he seethed, grabbing Ja'far's chin and jerking it towards him when he caught the other avoiding his gaze, "I'm not Sinbad. Who do you think you're fucking?"

Ja'far's eyes went wide, his body motionless. For a moment all that could be heard was the mingling of their soft, ragged breaths. "I'm. . . we're not. . . "

Judal was done talking. He recaptured his enemy's mouth in a violent series of kisses, one hand curled tightly beneath Ja'far's jaw in a light chokehold, the other snaking behind to prod at his backside. He twitched nervously, opening his mouth to object, but Judal's fevered kisses gave him no opportunity to speak. The cool metal of golden cuffs dug into his thigh, and he moaned against Judal's lips as a finger, lubricated slick with his own previously spilled come slowly slid inside him.

Everything was spiraling wildly beyond control for the young Sindrian general. How had it become this way? What were they doing? Was it even about Sinbad anymore? Why was it that no matter how many times he closed his eyes and reopened them, all he saw was Judal's face, transfixed so deeply back on him that it made Ja'far shiver?

Just as he was becoming accustomed to the feeling of Judal's fingers pumping in and out of him, he felt something entirely new pressing into him. "Ju—!" he started, his small frame shuddering at the shock.

Judal laughed darkly as he pressed his lips against Ja'far's collarbone, but he did not quite smile. He was nothing but serious in ravaging his victim with allover bites and licks and nips and kisses; every inch of Ja'far's body that ached for Sinbad, Judal would make ache for him instead. He wouldn't lose to that bastard king—hell, he couldn't wait to revel in the sick pleasure of telling Sinbad he'd fucked his little advisor. He would destroy everything, he would have his way.

"Say it," he ordered, one hand over Ja'far's throat, the other curled over his hip. He clawed into him harder. It was so hot and tight inside, he was growing impatient. "_Fuck_. Say it!" He was at his limit. Ja'far gasped in pain, and Judal moved his hand to stroke him once more, to bring Ja'far back to the edge with him.

"Judal. . ."

"Again," the word was a low hiss against Ja'far's neck; hips bucked hard against the general's fragile-looking body as he rubbed his thumb agonizingly over the tip of his cock. "Who's fucking you? It isn't Sinbad."

"It's not—!" Ja'far moaned desperately, "It's not. It's you. You are—It hurts—Judal!"

Didn't he know how that squirming of his felt for Judal inside him? Damn it all. With a string of muttered curses, he came forcefully inside; he lingered only a moment after before pulling out. Without the pain of Judal inside him Ja'far was left with only pleasure, lying in heat, the feeling of unfinished arousal still pitted deep in his belly.

"What . . ." he whispered incoherently, having no idea what those last few minutes had been.

Judal perched languidly over him, panting hard, staring wordlessly for a brief, confusing minute. He didn't know the answer either, but he was done. Abruptly he stood and as he finished dressing himself he gave Ja'far his coyest most impish smile, "Ah, well that was fun. Be seeing you, Ja'far."

He turned, leaving the stunned general to finish himself off. Judal wanted to laugh, imagining him coming all over himself, then immediately straightening up his desk afterwards, returning back to work as if nothing had happened. He would have expected no less of Ja'far up until now, but after seeing that expression— hearing his voice ragged with passion, the writhing of his thin body beneath him . . . Judal wanted to laugh, but he couldn't. Not while his mind was still flooded with images of Ja'far.


End file.
